Kaelen and the Lights of Memory Part 1

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The path stretched like a narrow scar through the high mountains. A pale blue lay over the snowflakes, and the air smelled of old ice that hadn't thawed for centuries. Varaan placed his claws carefully, his slate-colored body shimmering damply in the mist, his long, mossy horns occasionally brushing the overhanging rock. His travel pack swayed on his back, strapped tightly with leather straps, and with every step, a hook clinked, as if he himself carried a small mountain bell. "Still far?" Kaelen asked, more to himself than to him. The dragon turned his head, his lizard-like gaze calm, speaking without words: We are where one doesn't question distance.The wind died down. In the sudden diminution of noise, something else, more delicate, emerged: lights rose from the cracks in the rocks. At first only single ones, then swarms, until the slope looked as if an invisible city rose and sent up its lanterns. Kaelen stopped. The lights didn't simply glow; they carried images. One drop hung before her, and in it, a child played with a carved pipe. A second drop carried the hand of an old woman kneading bread. A third was only a soft gasp before an embrace. The mountain breathed out stories. "Memories," whispered Kaelen. Her voice trailed off, as if nothing loud was allowed here. The glow floated past her, thick, warm, heavy; like bees guarding a house that no longer exists. A light broke away from the swarm and stopped in front of her face. It was no bigger than a plum, but in it she saw herself, by the water of a canal, her legs in the mud, her mother's hands smoothing a book so the pages wouldn't tear. Kaelen felt the muscles in her shoulders tighten. A second light followed, darker; in it lay the face of a boy who had once made her a vow and later taken it back. A third showed the night in which she found no one to hear her call. "Why are you here?" she asked. No answer. But something in the order of the lights changed, as if they had been waiting for her question. The warm ones clustered on the right, the painful ones on the left, and above them all stretched a thin, barely visible arc, connecting the groups like a string. Varaan moved closer. His breathing was deep, as if listening to a frequency hidden from human ears. "I think," Kaelen said, "they want me to choose." The word cut dryly across her tongue. Choosing always meant losing. She sat down on a flat stone, feeling the cold down to her bones. "If I keep the dark ones," she thought, "perhaps they'll carry me further, sharpen my vision. If I let them go, it will be easier, but what if I then lose what has preserved me?" She laid her forehead against Varaan's neck. Beneath the slate armor, she felt life, the calm counterforce to all the flickering.